


Of Golden Sands

by toffeecake



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 02:13:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4082764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toffeecake/pseuds/toffeecake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The boy asked a question, he didn't think it would do any harm after all, and his Dad had told him once that there was never such a thing as a stupid question if someone truly wanted to learn."</p><p>AKA: Fifth Doctor, Time and Space analogies, a little angst, and damage control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Golden Sands

The boy asked a question, he didn't think it would do any harm after all, and his Dad had told him once that there was never such a thing as a stupid question if someone truly wanted to learn. The boy didn't think that the man who said he would look after him for a little bit would mind the question; he was nice, he talked a lot, made small jokes. He smelt faintly of cut grass and summer days, and the boy didn't mind being with him so much while someone else was trying to find his Mum.

There was the thing about not trusting strangers which was very important of course, but to be fair, there had been a lot of Other Stuff, going on So Very Fast, that he Didn't Understand and the boy didn't want to think about any of that just yet because he wanted his Mum, and the man with the kind blue eyes and the stripy trousers had said not to worry, things would be all right and the boy believed him. For the moment, just for a moment, he felt safe and distracted at the man's little jokes and small stories, so he asked the question carefully to try and understand what the man had told him he was.

"What's it like? I mean, you know. Being a-- a Time Lord?"

That was two in one really, wasn't it? The man's eyebrows rose up his forehead, surprised by such a bald question asked in perfect innocence. Then his brow creased, enough to convey his reluctance to answer and a wonder of how he was to field this without quashing the boy's flash of natural curiosity.

"What's it like? Well, it's... what it is. I'm me, nothing more, nothing less. What if I asked you what is it like to be human? It's a silly question, isn't it? You'd take offence if I asked you to try and justify what you are."

It was the boy's turn to frown, his mouth downcast with the thought he had caused offence.

"Now, no, you don't have to look like that. It's a-- all right." The man took a breath to pause and mildly roll his eyes skyward as if there would be help to answer before he gently capitulated.

"Right. All right. It's-- See, it's already difficult to explain." He paused again and held back his half exasperated sigh this time, gathering his thoughts to try and give an answer that the child would understand and one that was honest as well. He owed the boy that much after... Well. Just after.

The man started again, carefully, haltingly, his voice becoming more sure only as he warmed to the words, the feeling, the way he could command his senses and how much he could ever see, the joy and the connection he had to Time, the size of it, the expanse of it, the twist and the depth and the dizzying deep fall.

"If Time and Space were a beach, it's being able to know where every grain of sand lies. Imagine next there's a constant wind upon the beach. It's knowing where every grain has been and where it will end up going in that wind, being able to feel and trace the path of every one at any point. It's knowing that you're also one of those grains, tiny and finite, but still knowing exactly where you are in relation to every other and it comes to you as easily and naturally as breathing. It's being able to direct the wind currents on the beach; it's about feeling the crescendo of the universe, every buffet of breeze and then riding any lull in the storm. It's being able to tell when and where a grain of sand is off its course and might need a little bit of help, because one day that small grain is going to affect so many others and do so many good things.

It's about being connected to Time and walking through it in a way that is just fleeting and is still an eternity. It's about being so very small and seeing everything, it's being able to do and see all of that and still have enough room to play four games of chess and another four of checkers, all at the same time. It's about seeing the real patterns of the universe, not the ones that aren't really there that others make up to try and understand what they see. It's like being the Sorcerer's Apprentice but never losing control of the mops and brooms."

Not that that was wholly true. Sometimes there would be dark specks in the grains that spoiled the beach, and sometimes, the mops and brooms didn't dance as expected. The man often won more than he lost; today could be classed a sorry draw.

The boy was silent while he tried to take it all in. The kind man said he wouldn't lie to him, and the boy didn't think he was now, and he didn't talk to him like he was a kid, either. A straight arrow, his Dad would have said. So he asked another question because in for a penny, in for a pound, that's another thing his Dad would have said, but his Dad wasn't here now to say anything like that ever again and the boy didn't want to think about that, so the boy asked the second question because the man that was keeping an eye on him had looked for the quickest of moments very sad, very alone and very old.

"Do you like it?"

The nice man opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and paused. Then he smiled a thin smile, brittle like it could break, and he had a glint in his eye as if he was on the ride of his life, better than the big dipper and any roller coaster the boy had ever seen. The glint in the nice man's eye was like a quick shine of madness because he knew the ride would never stop, he'd never be able to get off, never be able to leave it behind, but also because he never wanted to.

"Oh, yes. It's terrifying."

The man smiled again and this time he meant it, and as easy as that he looked just like he did at the start, the nice man that told the funny stories and jokes. He pointed up and over the boy's shoulder and told him to look, and there was his Mum, brought along by a girl with curly brown hair and wearing a red velvet suit, so the boy ran along over to his Mum and clung to her waist tight while she hugged him so very tight back.

When the boy turned back around, the nice man in the stripy trousers and the girl in the red velvet suit had gone.


End file.
